One For All
by Uncrasimatic
Summary: A narrative of the events occuring subsequent to the fall of the Scarlet Moon Empire, focusing on the journey undertaken by Flik, Viktor and a small band of soldiers across the Badlands, and the events that occur on their voyage.


There was little he could do as he watched the castle fall in the distance. The roaring of tumbling stone could be heard even from where they watched, out on the open fields. The smoke that rose from Gregminster's palace hung above it like a symbol of the evil that had gathered there, and would be swept away by the wind of the night. The sun edged slowly behind the horizon, the warm southerly wind slowly picking up as day turned to night, and the stars began to shine. He could not count them, but guessed the total in his mind - one-hundred-and-eight; one for each of the souls that had changed the world that day. It was ironic, in a sense, that a day that should end so quickly would be marked in history forever; an unwavering pillar in the sands of time. Still, those thoughts were no more than trivial in his mind. The past was to be put behind them, for the future looked to be more colourful than he could have wished for. A young man had led an army to victory against all odds, and so tomorrow would mark a new day. It would be the birth of a new empire, just as that passing day had been the death of the Scarlet Moon. A smile tugged at Viktor's lips; a smile of pride.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the air, and it tasted strangely sweet. The mercenary crossed his trunk-like arms over his chest, extending one leg and resting against the base of a solitary tree. Every now and again, the fires that raged within the palace's walls would find a stock of gunpowder, and a flurry of orange would light up the sky. Barbarossa's reign had ended.

"Our job is done," he said, and his companion turned from where he stood, a few metres in front of Viktor.

Flik's blue cape seemed to cling to his form, his features almost obscured by the orange glow of dusk. However, Viktor could still make out that no smile lined his companion's lips. His sword still hung at his side, stained with the blood of one-hundred soldiers, and his eyes looked solemnly over the vast fields that they would soon have to cross.

_But was it worth it? The losses we suffered..._ Flik reflected, and the pain of his memories seemed to grip his heart and squeeze the blood from it. He had lost the one he loved, and every time he saw her eyes on another; ever time he breathed air similar to that of Lenankamp, his mind seemed to fall apart. A tear found its way from his eye, and he wiped it away hurriedly. _The loss I suffered. I..._

"What do we do now?" Viktor interjected, and Flik looked upon him with a stern glare. A smile quickly washed over him. It was worth it, and that became apparent when he looked upon his bear-like friend. They had changed the world, just as Odessa had wished. He could almost hear her voice then, telling him to continue on with his life.

The younger of the two advanced forward, coming to stand next to that tree, and looked out over the soldiers they had gathered. They sat at the base of the small hill the mercenaries stood upon, congregated around a large campfire. They had collected thirty; maybe forty soldiers as they fled the royal palace. Most were standard human soldiers, yet two kobold fighters sat upon a small log to one side, and four elves had isolated themselves from the rest of the group. Flik held sympathy for those men, for their journey was far from over. He guessed many would die in the voyage to come.

"We head north!" he shouted, and every head but a few turned his way. "To the Badlands, and past them!" His reply was an unenthusiastic cheer, and a few swords held in the air. Flik sighed under his breath, and Viktor appeared next to him.

"They are tired," he said, and Flik nodded. "They'll soon warm up to you, and with numbers like this we can cross with few casualties."

"Who are you kidding, Viktor? These men are not trained for crossing the Badlands. They are weak, and the chances of them living are minimal."

Viktor's reply was harsh, a subtle edge in his voice. "These men are my soldiers, and those who are willing to fight for Anabelle's cause in Jowston." He crossed his arms again, while the men below them continued in their idle conversations. "If anyone is to die, it will be me protecting them. I made a promise, Flik, and I don't plan to break it."

Flik opened his mouth to protest, yet Viktor's voice rang loud over his.

"We leave at dawn!" he shouted, and retired to rest beside the tree again. Flik stayed and watched the horizon for a while before making his bed on the grass.

The night brought discomfort for the young mercenary. He did not dream bad dreams, for he had trouble sleeping on the open fields. The arrow wound he had taken to save his leader had caused him much discomfort, and his shoulder ached as he lay there. He must've slept for only an hour of the three he spent lying on the grass, and decided it better that he stayed awake. The thoughts of the journey to come, of his lost love and of the empire's fall plagued his mind and kept him from sleeping, and he could've been sure that if he did manage to sleep, his dreams would be of the same things. Flik spent the rest of night practicing swordplay under the shrouding shadow, ever-alert to protect the sleeping from wandering creatures, and asking the stars of his fate.


End file.
